


Ivy Sweet

by threeparts



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gift Fic, Poetry, Satinalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeparts/pseuds/threeparts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satinalia in the Circle was not something Clem Trevelyan looked forward to. But this year, things are looking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ivy Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bliteorum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliteorum/gifts).



> Gift fic for [a dear friend](http://alucifer.tumblr.com), written for Christmas 2014. Clem is her lovely baby, I just like dragging her into different AUs.

'Satinalia is known for its great feasting and revelry', Clemence had read back in the Circle. 'Dedicated to Satina, our second moon, it is a time to give thanks to the Maker and to create joyous memories to see us through the dark winter months ahead. We gather with our loved ones to feast and make merry, and to bestow gifts upon the ones we cherish most just as the Maker has blessed us in the past year.' The passage was stuffed between seasonal prayers to be said each annum, and when the Circle's idea of feasting and revelry was handmade cards exchanged between forkfuls of overcooked pork, tepid roast potatoes and wilted greens, the whole notion lost some of its appeal.

So when she arrived back at Skyhold on the afternoon before the holiday, Clem was less concerned about what they might have for dinner and more about washing off the last week of Crestwood muck that felt ground into her skin. She waved genially at the calls of, “Satinalia blessings, Inquisitor!” that rang out from the courtyard as she and her companions rode through the gates and climbed off their horses, passing the reins to Master Dennet and letting the ragtag bunch of stable brats start unloading their packs.

Winter had already set in up here in the mountains and there was a thin slush on the ground as they walked up to the Great Hall, freezing their toes while the sky overhead promised a heavier snowfall before the next day. It was a blessing when the doors swung open to greet them as they climbed the stairs and they felt the rush of warm air. Servants helped them draw off their heavy travelling cloaks and wet boots in the entryway, and it wasn't until she heard Varric say, “Well, damn, would you look at that,” in a tone of mild surprise that she peeked into the Hall itself.

Satinalia evidently had a very different meaning outside of the Circle.

Although it was only mid-afternoon, the Hall was already lit up with roaring fires, branches of candles, and small twinkling glowstones hidden up among the upper floor and rafters. The little glowing lights were also tucked into wreaths and bunting that decked the hall from end to end, dark fir and lighter ivy entwined with ribbons in white and gold, and embriums tucked among the branches filled the air with a light, fresh fragrance. There were fresh white cloths on all of the tables, covered in bowls of nuts and fruits that the usual crowd of hangers-on picked at as they gossiped. They, too, had dressed up for the occasion. Skyhold was far from the seasonal delights of Val Royeaux, but even up here the masked Orlesians couldn't resist showing off in gowns and doublets of fine cut and colour. The Fereldans were trying hard to match in luxurious furs and heavy drapes in dazzling patterns. Clem gaped through the doorway even as she heard Cassandra say, “I do wish Josephine would not waste all her effort on these parties.”

“Come on, Seeker, we aren't all stoic warrior types,” replied Varric. “Some of us could use a little time to unwind after spending a week crawling through the mud.” The two of them made their way into the Hall, still bickering.

A soft touch on her arm brought her back to herself and she felt a soft shawl drape around her shoulders in place of her wet cloak. Clem looked over her shoulder and gave Blackwall a grateful smile which only widened when he glanced away and down, murmuring something about the chill. When she stepped into the hall itself she realised how unnecessary his gesture had been, sweet as it was—the air in here was toasty from the fires and the crowd. For the first time in a week she felt like the chill in her bones might not have settled there for good after all. Still, a hot bath and dry clothes would do so much more.

She smiled and nodded her way through the throng of courtiers eager to wish her Satinalia blessings regardless of how dirty and tired she was, and when she finally slipped through the door to her tower she closed it and leaned against it with a sigh of relief. Home. Finally.

 

Two hours, two glasses of wine, and one hot bath later, Clem felt nearly human again. A hot meal and a good night's sleep might do it, but as she thought of the decorations downstairs her heart sank a little. They'd probably want her to make an appearance. Maybe even a speech. Maker, please don't let there be speeches. She stuck a toe out of the tub in front of her fireplace and shivered. She'd kept the water steaming through little bursts of magic, but it didn't do much for the air in the room as night rolled in. Downstairs would, if nothing else, be a lot warmer. She sighed and pushed herself up, letting the water cascade off her, and stretched and yawned before bending to grab her towel. She hummed softly to herself as she dressed, the prospect of clean, dry clothes a delight all on its own, and finally stepped into a pair of soft fur slippers that had been a nameday gift from Leliana. She refused to even think about wearing boots for at least another week. She wandered over to her desk, pulling the shawl back around her shoulders and was relieved to see it empty of anything but the usual clutter. No messages from Josephine, no prayers or speeches already composed for her... hopefully someone else would be taking care of the ceremonial nonsense and she could slip away after a quick meal. She gave her bed a last, longing look and headed for the stairs.

 

“Inquisitor!” The Iron Bull's roar welcomed her as she stepped back out into the hall. “We thought you were going to miss the party!” He had a tankard in one hand and a pretty green-eyed elf girl in the other, his night clearly already planned. The rest of the hall was abuzz as people crowded around the tables and she could hear music drifting down from the upper floor. The first course may not have officially started yet, but platters of cheese and bread had already been laid out with the fruits and nuts, and nearly everyone already had a cup of wine, cider or ale in their hands.

“Don't think I wasn't considering it,” Clem called back, but Bull's reply was lost in cheers from the rest of the hall as as the doors from the kitchen were pushed open and a line of servers filed out, each carrying something different and delicious. Pies, tureens of soup and pots of stew, baskets of loaves, platters of steaming fish and artfully arranged vegetables were all laid out on the tables: the feast had begun. Clem felt her stomach groan at the sight of the food and thought to herself that just maybe she could stay a little longer. Especially if she didn't have to make any speeches.

 

“And Hawke was just standing there, singing his head off as these five nugs in tiny wedding gowns ran out between his legs and into the rest of Darktown. It took two days to find them all. Carver still won't talk about it.”

The rest of the table burst into laughter, even Cassandra—her cheeks flushed, an embrium tucked behind her ear—letting out a little snort at Varric's story. Clem giggled, hiccupped, and giggled again as she felt the ivy circlet Sera had put on her head earlier slip down over one ear. Dinner was long over, but she and almost a dozen other people still sat together at one of the tables in the hall. The wine—and a good number of other drinks—had been flowing freely all night and Clem couldn't pinpoint the exact moment where 'a quick bite to eat' had turned into a five course dinner and then drinks with her friends afterwards, but she was glad it had. She felt warm and cozy, and she leaned over with a content sigh to rest her head against Blackwall's shoulder. He sat next to her on the bench, her arm wrapped around his waist, fingers tucked into his belt. He glanced over at her and smiled, murmuring, “Your crown is slipping off, my lady,” as he raised one hand to straighten her wreath. His hand brushed across her cheek for a moment and Clem tilted her head, hoping for a kiss. Blackwall hesitated for a moment, then ducked his head and pecked her briefly on the lips before turning away to take another drink from his tankard, his cheeks flushed. Clem smiled to herself for a moment, only half listening as Dorian started telling a story about one of the Satinalia parties he'd attended in the Vyrantium Circle. Mind made up, she squeezed Blackwall's side and straightened, leaning over to murmur a question in his ear. He glanced at her, startled for a moment, but swallowed and nodded.

 

Ten minutes later, after the others had finally finished trying to convince her before giving in and wishing her goodnight, Clem stood on the balcony in her room looking out over the gardens and courtyard. Flickering lights and an enormous bonfire lit up the keep, and despite the cold she could see people gathering around the fire and hear the distant sound of singing. The song was an old, familiar one and she hummed along with it, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“You'll catch your death standing out there.” Blackwall's low voice came from behind her, apparently having made his own escape from the party in the hall.

“Then you should come over here and keep me warm.” Clem didn't turn as she replied, but smiled as she heard his heavy boots on the stone. A moment later his arms slipped around her waist as he pulled her back against his chest and she felt his warm breath on her cheek. She tilted her head back and kissed him softly on his cheek, and he responded by turning his head and gently pressing his lips to hers in a slow, lingering kiss. When they finally broke apart, Blackwall rested his chin on her shoulder and looked down over the courtyard. Clem's eyes flickered closed, enjoying his warmth and closeness. After a moment she heard him singing softly along with the distant crowd, his deep voice a pleasant addition to the melody.

“Heed our words

Hear our cry

Our names recalled

We cannot die...”

She tilted her head to look at him curiously. His expression was distant, a small furrow between his brows, and she murmured, “I didn't know you sang.”

He blinked and looked back at her, giving her a small smile. “I'm a man of many parts,” he said, and she wondered why he sighed afterwards. That wouldn't do at all. She took his hands in her own as she turned and drew him back into her room.

“Then,” she said with an inviting smile, letting the shawl slip off her shoulders to the ground, “You really ought to show me some of them.”

 

Clem threw her arm over her face and squinted at the too-bright light flooding into her bedroom. It had definitely snowed overnight, and the morning sun gleaming off the mountains made her head ache. Or was that the wine she'd drunk? She groaned. She didn't know and she didn't care, she decided as she pulled the blanket over her head and rolled over. And to make matters worse, the other side of the bed was empty and—she slipped one arm over into the space beside her—long cold. It was Satinalia morning, he could at least have stayed. Clemence sighed and pushed herself up. Her head hurt, her mouth felt terribly dry and she didn't even have anyone to cuddle with. There hardly seemed any reason to stay in bed. Wincing against the glare she slipped her bare feet into her slippers, tugged a warm blanket around her naked body and made her way to the water pitcher across the room. Pouring herself a glass she drank deeply, feeling her head throb. She stared unseeingly at her desk for a couple of minutes as she tried to wake up, before her eyes finally focused on something she was almost certain hadn't been there the day before. She titlted her head curiously and moved around her desk to examine it. It was a little black book, the seal of the Inquisition stamped into the leather cover. And on top of it, a clumsy posy of little white and yellow flowers tied with a white ribbon. She reached out and stroked one of the petals and a drop of moisture rolled off and onto the leather book. Clem smiled to herself. Well, at least Blackwall had a good excuse for why he disappeared this morning. She lifted the flowers and sniffed: a light, spicy fragrance that made her think of warm summer mornings and sun showers, a scent that seemed to take the chill out of the air as she breathed it in. Still smiling, she reached down and opened the book. The paper was blank, empty white page after page. Surprised, Clem put down the flowers and carefully lifted the book. It was a rare gift, especially as she knew how often Josephine lamented about the difficulty of getting clean, dry paper up into the mountains. As she flicked through the stiff pages, a little folded note slipped out onto her desk, and she carefully put the book down to open it.

_Although she wears a crown of ivy sweet_   
_Leaves in hair entwined, soft upon her brow,_   
_No ruling queen is she, nor sworn elite_   
_Yet where my lady walks all heads do bow._   
_And although she speaks as a lady might_   
_Tone soft and mild, or declaration bold,_   
_No title does she bear, nor landed right_   
_Yet to my lady's will all men do fold._   
_My lady carries lightning in her hand,_   
_Spirit in her heart, fire in her form._   
_'gainst her fierce beauty no other may stand_   
_Yet she grants me Clemency from her storm._   
_Though never may I call her solely mine_   
_My lady is, to me, the most Divine._

The poem was untitled and unsigned, but written in Blackwall's firm scrawl. She stared at the page for a long moment, her lips moving silently as a slow flush rose in her cheeks. Oh. Oh. Well. If that's how he wanted to be...

Clem carefully folded the note and slipped it back between the pages of the notebook before turning to her wardrobe. She smiled to herself as she dressed, choosing her clothes with much deliberation. She had Satinalia visits to make and what kind of lady would she be if she did not deliver her thanks in person? She paused before she left and gently tugged a flower from the little posy, tucking it behind her ear. Perhaps, she thought to herself as she made her way to the stairs, perhaps she could get to like holidays after all.

 


End file.
